


Cliche

by onekisstotakewithme



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Kibbs, Weddings, cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 02:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12808071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekisstotakewithme/pseuds/onekisstotakewithme
Summary: He just wanted to escape the wedding, but hadn't planned on meeting anyone in the garden... least of all the head groundskeeper herself. Kibbs, Happy birthday to Sara (a-mi-zivi) my big sister, this is for you!





	Cliche

He hadn’t known what he’d been expecting when he’d escaped into the garden, the doors of the ballroom flung open to the sunny July day. He’d just needed some fresh air, and what better place to find it than among the waving flowers, their scent carrying on the breeze, and giving him a moment of peace he hadn’t previously known.

He shot a look back through the doors, his view partially blocked by the billowing curtains, to make sure that he wasn’t missed.

What had Tim been thinking, inviting Leroy Jethro Gibbs to a wedding? It was like inviting the bad fairy to a christening, practically inviting a curse on all involved.

He kept stumbling through the expansive garden, feeling oddly free and euphoric, as though drunk on summer air, as opposed to the champagne he’d been ignoring throughout the day, but the late afternoon sun was warm on his face, and he’d escaped the wedding.

It was hard to enjoy weddings, having had so many of his own that had not turned out as planned. But to utter such a thought out loud was unlike him, so he kept his mouth shut. But watching the happy couple inside, laughing together, drunk on love, it had left him with an ache in his chest and a distinct feeling of being unable to catch his breath.

And so he’d made his escape.

The flowers were fresh, and though he was more skilled with woodworking than gardening, he knew from the look of the flowerbeds, free of weeds, and the grass lining the path a green that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Emerald City, that the garden was a labor of love. He loosened his tie, still feeling short of breath, and so focused was he that he didn’t notice the woman until he crashed into her. The two of them stumbled together, trying to regain their balance, but it was futile, and crashing to the ground, he had the wind knocked out of him with a grunt.

And then he opened his eyes, staring up at the woman he’d crashed into. A face full of freckles, and wide brown eyes were his first impression.

“I’m sorry,” she said, climbing off of him. He was still short of breath, but staring up, he suddenly didn’t mind. And then wondered if he’d hit his head when they’d crashed.

She offered him a hand, and he took it, feeling the rough skin on her hands that matched his own, as she pulled him to his feet. He grinned down at her. “No need to apologize. I shoulda looked where I was goin’.”

She grinned back, wisps of hair escaping the braid tucked underneath the floppy sunhat. She was wearing faded overalls, and if he hadn’t already been suspicious about her presence, the outfit confirmed it. Whatever smile she’d been wearing disappeared when she looked him over. “You’re here for the wedding, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Catch on quick, Miss..,?” he asked.

She ignored it. “You shouldn’t be out here!”

“Yeah?” He smirked. “And who are you to say that?”

“I’m the groundskeeper here, sir.” She crossed her arms, glaring up at him, and it almost made him smile. “You should be inside, instead of out here terrorizing gardeners.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Look, I had to escape. I hate weddings.”

Something that might have been a chuckle escaped her. He looked at her in astonishment, and she turned red under his questioning gaze. “Bride or groom?” she asked, curious, brushing off the knees of the soft denim overalls.

“Do I look like a bride to you?” he asked.

“Ha ha. Very funny,” she deadpanned, before frowning. “I’m so sorry, I got dirt on your suit.”

“What?” he looked down, only to find that she was right, and there was in fact a huge smudge of dirt across his suit jacket. “Dammit.”

“That’s what you get for stumbling around the gardens when you should be inside,” she teased.

“Already told ya, don’t apologize. And besides… gives it character.”

“Are you gonna answer my question?” she asked.

He narrowed his eyes at her, and she simply raised her eyebrows back at him. “The groom,” he allowed. “I’m his boss… and… yeah.”

“Why do you hate weddings?” she asked.

“Don’t ya have a job to do?” he asked, turning away.

“I do. But I agree. Weddings… aren’t pleasant.”

He sat down on the stone bench, and huffed out a breath. “What’s your beef with them?” he asked.

“Pushy, match-making mother,” she said. “Mind if I sit?”

He waved a hand dismissively, and she took it as an invitation to sit beside him. “After bein’ married four times, it’s not my favorite past-time.”

She whistled, a low, impressed noise. “Wow. That has to be some kinda record.”

He made a face. “They’re just so…”

“Trite?” she offered. “Cliché?”

“Yeah,” he agreed darkly. “The vows…”

“The dress,” she mumbled. “Rented tuxedos…”

“Rubbery food,” he continued.

“Chalky cake…”

“And the music,” he said.

She actually groaned at that, smacking a hand to her forehead. “The _cheesy_ music! Who could forget?”

He sighed. “The kiss.”

“The kiss,” she agreed, and their eyes met. Her eyes were a soft brown, a sharp contrast to the electric blue eyes he knew to stare out of his own face. She continued. “Was up to me, I would never get married.”

“It _is_ up to you, though,” he said.

“And my mother,” she told him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Nope,” he told her, before trying to brush the dirt from his suit jacket. “Not your mother. _You._ ”

“My mother is used to getting what she wants,” she told him.

“Somethin’ tells me that no one has ever forced you to do anythin’ ya didn’t want to do.”

She shrugged, half-smiling. “That is true. You’ve had profile training?”

“Just good at readin’ people,” he told her. “Got a great gut instinct.”

“And what’s your gut instinct telling you right now?” she asked in return, as they looked at each other, and the feeling of breathlessness was back, choking him, all words fleeing his brain as he looked at her. She bit her lip, watching him, and was it just him or was she too close to his face?

He could hear cheesy music spilling out of the open doors to the ballroom, and he grinned. “It’s tellin’ me to dance with ya.”

“I don’t even know your name, and you want to dance?” she asked.

He stood up, and held out a hand. “I’m not big on _conventional,_ but if ya wanna know my name…?”

“I don’t,” she said.

He grinned. “Want to dance?”

“I would love to… Even though this is _really_ cliché.” She took his hand anyway.

“Maybe, but it’s still nicer out here than in there,” he said, as they swayed back and forth, the cheesy music creeping into the refuge of the garden, echoing around them, as the late afternoon sun glowed on her face, and it made him suddenly glad that he’d attended the wedding. He twirled her around, and then froze as she stepped in even closer, holding his hands as she leaned her head against his chest.

He felt a lump in his throat at the implied trust she had in him, and smiled to himself, as they continued swaying back and forth. He twirled her around again, grinning as she giggled, landing against his chest, clearly dizzy. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “That’s what they all tell me.”

She smacked his chest lightly, but didn’t pull away. She simply smiled up at him. “You sure you wouldn’t rather be in there?”

“Definitely not,” he said softly, looking down at her. The song ended, but they were frozen in place, staring at each other, and he was so very tempted to lean down and kiss her- and he didn’t even know her name.

“You should get back,” she said, pulling away from him, clearly embarrassed. She ducked her head, her cheeks pink from embarrassment. “They’ll be missing you.”

“Doubt it,” he said, and she laughed. He wasn’t sure what had come over him, sharing such an intimate moment with such a virtual stranger, but suddenly he felt the need to make an offer. “Wanna come in with me?”

“In this?” she asked, gesturing to the faded overalls, as she picked up her hat from the ground. “No, don’t worry about me.”

“At least-,” he hesitated, before holding out a hand. “Leroy Jethro Gibbs. And you are?”

She grinned. “Caitlin Todd. I go by Kate, though.”

He took her hand, and kissed it. “See ya around, Katie.” And before he did anything else he’d regret, he started making his way back through the gardens, the bubble of happiness surrounding him shrinking with every step closer to the ballroom.

And then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned around, only for Kate to plant a passionate kiss on his very surprised lips.

Though surprised, he grinned, and kissed her back, deciding perhaps he didn’t mind weddings _quite_ so much after all.


End file.
